


the bells are ringing for me and my gal

by dollsome



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: Once Grace has settled back into the beach house and out of life with Nick, Frankie has way too much fun with the fact that they’ve more or less become the “’til death do us part” kind of roommates.
Relationships: Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 113





	the bells are ringing for me and my gal

**Author's Note:**

> A little Valentine's Day ficlet written for some candy heart-inspired prompts over on Tumblr; this one is for janecurtin on Tumblr, for the prompts "yes dear" and "let's kiss." :)

Once Grace has settled back into the beach house and out of life with Nick, Frankie has way too much fun with the fact that they’ve more or less become the “’til death do us part” kind of roommates. Now, when Grace says things like, “Frankie, clean up this … whatever it is … out of the kitchen sink, will you?” or “Frankie, get your socks out of my purse,” Frankie always answers with a chipper, domestic “Yes, dear!” that ought to be followed by a 1950s sitcom laugh track.

“Can you stop doing that?” Grace finally asks one morning, sitting at the breakfast bar over waffles with Frankie. She’s just gotten a _Yes dear!_ in response to ‘Pass the syrup.’

“Why?” Frankie rests her chin on her hand and beams that _Aren’t I incorrigible?_ grin. “Too agreeable for ya?”

Grace sighs. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to say this, but I will.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Despite all the evidence to the contrary, you and I aren’t married, Frankie.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Because married people typically have sex. At least for a few years in there somewhere.”

Frankie ... gulps? “Yes, dear.”

“And I’ve never—well, not _never_ , you’ve heard you talk, but mostly never—gotten the impression that that’s how you and I operate.”

“Y-yes dear.”

“If you’re going to keep up the whole isn’t-it-cute-how-married-we-are-now-that-you-chose-me-over-your-husband routine,” Grace goes on, driven by fuck-knows-what (maybe the sugar rush from the waffles; there’s a reason she never used to eat breakfast), “then hell, let’s kiss. Let’s give it a try.”

Frankie stays silent.

“You’re not saying it anymore,” Grace finally remarks after a stretch of seconds that feels like an hour. She clears her throat. “Okay, then. Well, good, then that’s sorted out. Now, can we get on with our day—”

Frankie grabs Grace’s face in her hands, looks into her eyes for a moment that says everything, and kisses her: a careful, oddly chaste offering from the woman who’s been hitting on Grace with diabolical glee for the past thirty years. The kiss tastes like maple syrup and feels like _finally_.

“Is that ‘yes dear’ enough for you?” Frankie asks; the words are sassy, typical Frankie, but the breathless uncertainty in her voice melts Grace’s heart.

“Not quite,” Grace replies, leaning into the new-old, wonderful closeness, “but it’s a start.” 


End file.
